"I can't have any candy or slate-pencils for ever so long; but I don't care, 'cause I do like her, and she'll know it--course she will if I buy her a handkerchief; and she wont think I got all mussed up on purpose," she soliloquized. It required some heroism to pass by the fresh pop-corn balls at the store door, and to turn away from the boxes of figs without a second glance; but Nannie did both, and, walking straight to the counter, made known her errand. "Bandanas? Yes, a prime lot of 'em," said bustling little Mr. Carney, bringing out his whole stock. His small customer, standing on tiptoe to reach the counter, gravely examined them. Would Aunt Samantha like a red one or a yellow one best, she wondered. It was a perplexing question to decide. If only she could take her one of each! And that reminded her to ask the price. "Seventy-five cents apiece," said the old gentleman briskly. "Seventy--five--cents!" repeated Nan, faintly. "Yes, sissy; cheap at that, too." "I--thought--I didn't know," stammered Nannie, in a sore disappointment. Then rallying her faltering courage, she asked: "Don't you ever sell any for 'leven cents?" "Eleven cents? Bless me, child! Why, they cost--Oh! may be you mean cotton ones? Look a little like these." Nan nodded, glad to think it even probable that she had meant anything. "Well, I don't keep that kind, you see," explained Mr. Carney, condescendingly. Discouraged and forlorn, the little woman turned away. She walked until she was quite out of sight of the store, and then paused to meditate. What should she do? It seemed dreadfully hard to give up her plan now when she had thought it all nicely settled. There were plenty of stores in Bentley; some of them might sell handkerchiefs for eleven cents. She glanced dubiously along the road leading to the town, and noticed that the sun was nearly out of sight behind the hills. "But it stays light ever and ever so long after the sun sets," she murmured, "and it didn't seem a bit far when I rode to town with Aunt S'mantha. I guess this store is most part way. Anyhow, I just must have a bandana!" she added, as she once more caught sight of her soiled apron and muddy shoes. She straightened her sun-bonnet, and started resolutely forward again. She had grown to feel that the proposed purchase was in some way a reparation due to Aunt Samantha, and she could not give it up. On and on trudged the tired little feet, aching wearily at last, but never hesitating nor turning back. It seemed a long way, though. "Wonder if I wont ever and ever come to where the houses get thicker," she murmured. "When I keep a store I'll build it on the edge somewhere, so folks wont have to walk so far to get to it."